Saturday, February 18, 2006
I stand and watch as the ocean parts from the shore, leaving behind only the white foam of waves that vanish unbeknownst to everyone but me. And you. "The tide is rising," you say, "And the fish are coming in." I'm looking at the waves crashing onto shore, each one inches closer to touching the tips of my toes than the one before. Minutes tick by, the horizon is a spatter of crimson pinks and midnight blues. My toes are wet now. The old men with their fishing rods stroll in; taking their usual places, having their usual conversations. Everything is like clockwork, everything but me. And you. We are foreigners to this regiment, but we don't care. You take my hand, say "Darling, it's time to go now." We leave the fishermen as they cast their reels; we leave the sun as it is swallowed by the ocean. You hold my hand as we walk across the sand, and as we reach the boardwalk, I turn around to look at the footprints we've left. The beach is a sheet of nothing, nothing but trails of you and me.
sherry @ 3:20:00 pm
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